"You mean siren?"
"Yes. Sure. They're called both ways. Madam Crewe says all women are sirens. Then you're satisfied I ain't a siren, Mrs. Peckett?"
Mrs. Peckett inclined her head, smiling with easy patronage.
Martha regarded her narrowly for a moment.
"I see you ain't satisfied!"
"I certainly am, so far as Mr. Gilroy is concerned, but——"
Sam got upon his feet in a manner to cause Mrs. Peckett to come to a sudden halt.
"I know what she means, Sam. Keep cool, an' let me handle this, which I'm the only one can, anyhow. You'd like to know the name o' the party I wrote them letters to, you an' Ma amused yourselves playin' puzzles with? Well, I'll tell you his name. It's Dr. Ballard, an' even you couldn't be so much of a looney as think Dr. Ballard would give a second thought to the likes o' me, that I'd be writin' love-letters to'm, much less him wastin' time to read'm, let alone write me back.
"Before he went away, Dr. Ballard told me, he'd a likin' for this place an' every mother's son in it, which, I s'pose, that means you, too, an' he ast would I write'm, to tell how things was goin' on, an' if Miss Claire an' the baby was gettin' on, an' how Buller was comin' along. I promised I would. An' I kep' my promise, an' I'm goin' to keep on keepin' it. Any objection?"
Mrs. Peckett signified she had none.